


for a minute i was stone cold sober

by gingermaggie



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Season Finale, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:32:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingermaggie/pseuds/gingermaggie
Summary: As he walks to his death, he thinks about trust.





	for a minute i was stone cold sober

**Author's Note:**

> Just finished episode 7 of Still Star Crossed and found out that's it! So I'm still dealing with the emotional fallout from that discovery and watching lots of Rosvolio fanvids. Like. Lots of them. 
> 
> Anyway, I had to pause during the part where Benvolio is walking to his execution because I started thinking about this fic. So here we are. 
> 
> \--
> 
> title from say you won't let go by james arthur

As he walks to his death, he thinks about trust. 

He hasn’t trusted a great many people in his life. He trusted Romeo and Mercutio. Both dead. He trusted his father in the easy way a child trusts, without realizing there’s another option. Before he ever considered feeling otherwise, his father was dead, too. He trusted his uncle until he realized exactly how Damiano saw him--as a stain on the family, a drunkard, a fool. He trusted Stella. And that...didn’t work out the way he thought it would. 

And he trusts Capulet. Implicitly. Utterly.

As he walks to his death, he thinks about her. About the way her eyes flicked to his lips as her hands trembled, brushing against the bars that separated them. He thinks about her mouth against his, against all odds, against all reason. A Montague and a Capulet. Absurd. Unthinkable. 

But not the first. He thinks about his cousin and his cousin’s secret wife. The love that shone in their eyes, young and naive though it was. 

He doesn't think he loves Capulet. Not the way Escalus loves her. Not the way Romeo loved Juliet. Not even the way he thought he loved Stella. No, he doesn't love her. But he thinks he could have. Some day. Easily. If he'd just let himself. 

For now, though, he trusts her and she trusts him. And somehow...that is better. 

He thinks about the way it felt to cry when he saw her, so bright in the dark prison. When she told him she failed and he knew he would die. He has cried more in the last few weeks than he has in years. Since he was a child. Since his father was gone and his uncle was loveless and since he got accustomed to the feeling of being a waste of Montague blood. He thinks about the streak of wet sliding down his face as he kissed her, as he tried to pretend it meant more than it did. Tried to pretend it meant less than it did. 

Because it hurt too much to think of it clearly. Because if Rosaline kissed him because she cared about him, because she trusted him, that means he deserved it. That means his death is unjust, a tragedy, the stars conspiring against him. 

Pretend is easier. Maybes let him pretend that his death meant something, a pathway to peace. Like Romeo's was supposed to be. Something to bring Verona together. 

Sometimes you have to close your eyes for a lie to work. 

But trust doesn't allow for lies. And so he doesn't lie to her-- _ perhaps _ , he says, as much to himself as to her. If he deserves anything, he deserves a shred of hope. That his death isn’t futile. That his life wasn’t worth nothing. Who knows? This could be the time it sticks. Escalus could be right, despite his questionable motivations. He could be the tragedy to unite Capulet and Montague where Juliet and Romeo failed. 

This is what he thinks about as he walks to his death. 

He doesn’t think about Rosaline and Escalus, and what he told her in the prison, before she kissed him. He doesn’t spare Escalus a single thought. His prince failed him, failed Verona, failed justice, and he does not have enough time to waste thinking about the man who is killing him. 

He doesn’t think about his uncle and what he may or may not have done to his father. He doesn’t think about the man who framed him for murder, who threatened Livia Capulet, who intends to destroy the city he is now giving his life to protect. He doesn’t think about any of the ghosts clinging to him. He can barely even think of the fate that waits for him just a few steps away.

Not when his eye catches on Capulet, in the crowd, watching him with wide eyes and tear stained cheeks. His breath catches, the way it did when she reached through the bars and took his hand. He wants to smile, to reassure her, but all he can do is stare. She manages to smile, just a little. His heart twists. 

_ “I won't...be  _ **_happy_ ** _.” _

He thinks she’s probably wrong. He hopes she’s wrong. Despite everything, he hopes she’s happy again someday. With the prince, without him. Whatever brings her joy. 

As he walks to his death, Benvolio Montague finds that he’s more concerned with the welfare of Rosaline Capulet than his own. 

It is not long before he is kneeling on the cold, hard ground, head in the guillotine, waiting for the blade to fall. And he stops thinking. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have plans for a follow up to this for what comes next, but I wanted to go ahead and post this because if I wait too long I just won't. So look out for that. Also some modern AUs, probably? I'm too into these dumb kids right now. 
> 
> I'm [thebluestgansey](http://thebluestgansey.tumblr.com) on tumblr, come hang out!


End file.
